


You Are The Best One Of The Best Ones

by teenuviel1227



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: M/M, Tarot Readings, coffee shop AU, jaepilweek2018, painter!Jae, painter!Wonpil, past lives kinda, they're both artists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 16:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14217549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenuviel1227/pseuds/teenuviel1227
Summary: The one where Jae is a cafe owner/artist whose bestfriend Brian reads his tarot cards for him every month--and The Fool keeps on popping up; and one day, Kim Wonpil, art student, sequesters a table at Jae’s cafe and The Fool is replaced by the Two of Cups (the lurve card, if it needed saying).





	You Are The Best One Of The Best Ones

**Author's Note:**

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****“Well,” Jae says, closing the blinds and turning the **_CLOSED_ ** sign on the door, the chimes ringing a last time for the night. He grins as he takes a seat across from Brian. “What do you have for me this month, BriBri? My soulmate coming to meet me yet?”

Brian snorts, shuffling his cards again. “I feel like it. I swear, we need to bet on this stuff--I could probably make a fortune off of you.”

“No fair. You’re the one holding the damn cards. How would I even compete?”

Jae grins, pushing Brian’s coffee cup, the slice of blueberry pie they’re to share toward him. Jae loves that sound--the sound of friendship, of comforting talk after a long day at work.

Brian glances up at him, giving the cards another go, moving them from one hand into the other.

“Okay, you mock me now, but I swear to god, if we get The Fool gain, I’m convinced that you’re going to meet this guy within the year.”

“We’re not going to get The Fool again.”

“Third time’s always a charm, trust me,” Brian says, grinning.

Jae rolls his eyes. “Who would want to date a fool anyway?”

“I believe the song goes _you know I’m such a fool for you--_ ”

“--Jesus, Bri. What has Dowoon been feeding you? An extra helping of three-cheese pizza?”

Jae looks at Brian point-blank, already sick of this topic--since their days as college roomies, Brian’s taken to reading their cards monthly. The first few years, it was all fine: their monthly readings helped them Brian finally stop trying to be a jack of all trades and pick music over his business degree, helped Brian meet Dowoon at the orchestra, helped Jae figure out when it was time for him to apply for his first grant, helped him see which pieces would be best for him to exhibit at his first show. But as they’d gotten older, now pulling into their early thirties, Brian had settled down with Dowoon--and somehow decided that he was somehow going to _fix_ Jae’s love life, that his bestfriend wasn’t going to live his life alone, if it’s the last thing that he ever did.

Sure, Jae thinks now, cutting into the pie and spooning a bit of it into his mouth. It isn’t that he’s never lonely: sometimes, he looked at people like Brian and Dowoon or their other friends--Mark with Jinyoung, Bernard with Coco--and wondered what it’d feel like to have someone to come home to at the end of the day, someone to take a slice of pie home to, someone to brew coffee for on the weekends. But also, Jae’s a pretty independent guy, has enough friends, has the cafe, has his art studio, has his shows at the galleries, does pretty well for himself.

Love is great, but not a necessity, as far as he’s concerned.

“Alright,” Brian says, laying down three cards. “Something simple tonight because we’re both tired and this blueberry pie isn’t going to eat itself.”

“Hit me.”

Brian turns the first card over.

The Hermit.

“Do I even have to explain?”

Jae snorts. “I’m always that guy. Lemme guess: kind of aloof, sort of iffy about society, but also seeking deeper insight into the truth?”

Brian grins. “And as always, I’m the guy who’s going to say, I love you as you are Jaehyung Park, but sooner or later, you’re going to have to let someone in.”

“I’d love to let them, if they existed.”

Brian sighs, turns the next card.

“AHA!”

Jae groans. “Not again.”

They both blink--Brian grinning, Jae frowning as they sit looking at The Fool as he grins up at them from the card, about to step off of a cliff, a small dog barking at his heels.

“I’m telling you, Jae,” Brian says, grinning. “The Fool is an awesome card. All about creativity and spontaneity, being afraid to pursue new ventures--”

“--also, you know, this guy’s about to dive off of a freaking cliff and he’s like _tralalalala_ \--”

“--isn’t that always, love, though?” Brian asks, grinning.

“Well, who knows--that--that could be me,” Jae tries, trying to adapt Brian’s I’ll-read-your-cards tone. “And it could mean I’m learning to love myself.”

“HAH, nice try--” Brian flips the next card. The Two of Cups. “--boom. Trump card for emotions, man. A union of lovers, harmony in all things--”

“--don’t say it--”

“--I’ll be damned if this person isn’t your soulmate, someone you already met in a past life.”

Jae sighs. “Cups--’cause I own a cafe?”

Brian rolls his eyes. “Well, that is possible but only from a practical, literal standpoint. Maybe you meet this guy at a cafe, maybe he’s more intune with his emotions than you are, thank fuck.”

Jae shrugs. “Trust me, if the man I was supposed to be with was having coffee at my cafe, I’d fucking notice.”

  


Jae doesn’t notice the day that Wonpil walks into the cafe with his large sketchbook and small toolbox of art supplies until it’s too late--Wonpil heads into the bathroom to get water for his brushes, doesn’t see the small, dog-shaped figurine that Jae uses as a door stopper for the defective counter door and trips right over it, his mason jar shattering on the marble floor, thick glasses flying off of his nose, newly-washed brushes spilling under various tables.

“Jesus Christ,” Jae says, looking up from the counter where he’s busy fixing a couple of cappuccinos. His barista, Sungjin, had taken a sick day and he’s left to fend for himself--cutting up pies and cakes with one hand, refilling the espresso machine with coffee grinds with the other.

“I’m sorry--” Wonpil says, scrambling to see where he can brace himself on the floor without cutting himself on a piece of glass. “--I can’t see without my--”

“--steady,” Jae says, reaching down to help him up, kicking away any shattered glass. He helps Wonpil back to his chair before reaching under one of the tables to pick up Wonpil’s glasses. He wipes the water-soaked frames on his apron before handing them back to Wonpil.

Wonpil puts them on, blinks as Jae swims into focus. “Sorry about that. I didn’t see that--whatever it was--”

“--my door stopper,” Jae says, bringing his palm to his forehead. “Yeah, I should’ve known someone would trip over that eventually. I should get the counter hinge fixed.”

“I should’ve been more careful,” Wonpil says, running a hand through his hair. “I’m such an idiot. I _knew_ I should’ve brought my own dam paint water but sometimes I get so carried away and the chances of me actually making this application for the gallery show--”

Jae blinks once, twice, realizing that the man he’s helped up and off of the floor, just a minute ago making a human mop of himself against cut glass, is not just an artist but also very, very, very handsome. _The Fool._ Wonpil grins, then, gestures to the rest of the cafe.

“--I thought I’d paint here because the light’s so good and the art on the walls is awesome. It reminds me of one of my favorite artists--”

“--ah,” Jae says, recovering, pulling himself back from his trance of taking in Wonpil’s pretty eyes, his honeyed skin, his wide smile. “Right. I drew those--I’m an artist myself. I made this series special for the cafe--I wanted it to really mirror the act of waking up, of the sun rising.”

“Oh yeah?” Wonpil cocks his head a little to the side, gaze scanning the coffee shop. “Sorry, but what’s your name?”

“Jae. Jae Park but my work’s credited as E.A.J.--”

“--you’re shitting me,” Wonpil says.

“Um, no--"

“--I’m doing my masteral thesis on your life’s work. That’s what drew me to the art in this place, I can’t freaking believe--”

“--you’re-- _my_ work--okay, wait,” Jae says, laughing. “What’s your name again?”

“Wonpil. Wonpil Kim. But I submit my work under the pseudonym P.A.B.O. because I used it as a way to cull my insecurity about my work as an undergrad student and now here I am, _voila_ , the name stuck and I’m too lazy to start all over again.”

Jae bursts out laughing. “You’re kidding right?”

“I wish I was.”

 

 

“I fucking told you so,” Brian says, a week later, as he, Jae, and Dowoon sit at a bar, nursing glasses of whiskey as the band on stage starts to play. “Didn’t I, Dowoonie?”

Dowoon grins, sipping from his drink, wrapping an arm around Brian’s waist, kissing his shoulder. “Only for the past, what is it, eight months?”

“ _Nine_ ,” Brian corrects him.

“Shut up,” Jae says, turning to face the stage. “I mean, okay so he tripped over a _dog_ -shaped door stopper. I thought that the tarot cards weren’t supposed to be literal.”

“Not _just_ literal. But seriously. That’s too much to ignore, Jae. You’ll regret it if you pass this up.”

Jae clears his throat, takes a sip from his drink. “Who said I was passing anything up?”

  


Wonpil starts to paint at the cafe everyday--Jae’s learned to memorize his routine: he’d be in by 3:30 in the afternoon, packing up by 8:00 in the evening. There’s something therapeutic not just in _what_ Wonpil paints (mostly watercolor landscapes characterized by their playful takes on colors, ordinary primaries substituted for jewel tones: magenta sky, teal river, amethyst trees on a yellow field), but also in _how_ he paints. There’s something peaceful about the way that he gets so absorbed in every line, every stroke of the brush, his eyebrows knitting as he frowns in concentration.

Eventually, Jae works up the nerve to brew Wonpil a cup of coffee, one that he gives him for free. His excuses are simple but sincere--I know how it feels. I wish someone else had given me a cup of coffee when I was just starting out. Every time, Wonpil smiles, offers Jae a seat.

“You can sit, if you want.”

And Jae does--at least until someone new walks in and he has to tend to the customers. In the meantime, they talk about everything: childhood anecdotes, how they started with art, their favorite painters.

Kim Il, Klimt, Hopper for Jae. Magritte, Matisse, Van Gogh for Wonpil.

And then inevitably, the chimes ring. Inevitably, the conversation has to end--is put aside with a silent promise: _tomorrow again._

They go like this for the better part of a month, until one day, as Jae’s about to get up, Wonpil stays his hand with his own. It tingles where they touch. Jae feels his heart skip a beat.

“Jae?”

“Yeah? Can I get you anything?”

“I’m having a show on the twelfth,” Wonpil blurts out. “And um. Yeah. I’d really like it if you could come. They’re a series of paintings that were painted here, mostly. I’d gotten the space when I only had like, three pieces and now I have more than ten and that’s thanks to you, really. So. Yeah. Just if you want, though, I totally understand--”

“--oh come on,” Jae says, grinning. “I’d love to.”  


 

“Goddamn, I’m nervous,” Jae says, leaning in over the table to see the cards as Brian turns them over slowly.

Brian laughs. “Relax, jeez. It’ll be fine. The guy already likes you--and we make our own fate anyhow.”

“Oh so _now_ it’s _we make our own fate,_ ” Jae says pointedly. “Mr. He’s-Your-Soulmate, Mr. You-Probably-Met-Him-In-A-Past-Life.”

Brian chuckles and then lets out a slow breath as he turns the rest of the last card over.

The Two of Cups.

“Boom,” Brian says.

“Boom what?” Jae asks, but already, as he looks at the card, he begins to grin, can guess at what it means.

“Endgame, Jae. Endgame.”

  


Wonpil looks amazing. He’s dressed in a pink, checkered sweater tucked into jeans under a simple, beige coat. Tonight he’s put on his glasses, has styled his hair swept to one side. Jae takes a deep breath as he catches Wonpil’s eye--he hopes he looks alright. He’s put on his lucky outfit: blue polo, gray blazer, ripped blue jeans and boots, gold-rimmed glasses. He watches as Wonpil makes his way toward him in the crowd, plucking two glasses of white wine from a passing waiter before he reaches Jae.

“Hey,” Wonpil says, almost breathless from pushing through the crowd.  

“Hi,” Jae says back, unable to stop smiling. “Nice sweater.”

Wonpil grins, handing Jae the glass of wine. “It’s eclectic, I know.”

“You look good,” Jae says, letting his eyes linger for a moment longer on Wonpil’s face--his eyes, his smile. “Like, really good.”

A blush spreads itself pink over Wonpil’s cheeks. “Look who’s talking.”

A beat of silence. Wonpil nudges Jae’s arm. “You want to go and see the show?”

“Of course.”

Wonpil takes them through a tour of the gallery, walking Jae through the collection: the series of four paintings that had won him the show in the first place--the same landscape rendered in different seasons, the nuances of every color so slight but also extremely clear. Emerald dipping into Jade, tripping into British Racing Green.

“My goodness,” Jae whispers, breathless. “How do you _do_ that?”

Wonpil grins, biting down on his lower lip in excitement. “I learned that from studying your work for my thesis. The bit you did for _Music in Color_ : you messed a lot with the whites of the portraits. So I thought what if you messed more with the blacks, the darker hues of every base color. It was tricky. I had to mix different palettes for Spring and Summer, Autumn and Winter--and then I adjusted them even further once everything was settled so they’d look more cohesive.”

“It’s breathtaking,” Jae says.

“Come on,” Wonpil tugs on the sleeve of Jae’s blazer. Jae decides to take a leap of faith, reaches down and slips his hand into Wonpil’s. He glances at Wonpil--they’re both smiling.

The rest of the show passes in a colorful flurry of beautiful seasons, small, intimate slices of life from the cafe: Wonpil’s table, rendered in rose-hues, the view from the cafe window in bright blues and yellows, Jae’s counter-top with a plate of golden bacon, a steaming cup of shiny, black coffee. Every piece is stunning, Jae convinced by the end of it that he’s going to have to buy at least four of the paintings for the cafe--and then finds himself wondering if it’s overindulgent to put a painting of a cafe _in_ the said cafe.

“There’s one more thing I want to show you,” Wonpil says, tugging Jae toward a small back room, squeezing his hand.

Jae raises an eyebrow. They make their way across the gallery, Jae taking two glasses of wine for them.

They walk into the small room. There’s a small table, a bunch of different frames laid out, littered amongst scissors, wire, blue sticky tack--a work space, probably from getting the exhibit together. On top of the frames is a single canvas, about the size of novel, wrapped in cheesecloth.

Wonpil squeezes Jae’s hand before letting it go. Jae feels a soft lurch in his chest. Wonpil unwraps the canvas, hands it to Jae.

“This is for you."

Jae blinks once, twice. The painting is obviously set in the cafe, awash in cooler hues, all blues and greens, with the only warm thing being the outline of a man sitting across the table from the persona, setting down a cup of coffee. Jae smiles, noting the gold-rimmed frames, the shade of lighter yellow used to illuminate his hair.

“I don’t usually paint portraits but I wanted to make an exception. This one’s called _The Knight of Cups_. Not sure if you’re familiar with--”

“--I am. My friend does readings for me every month.”

“Oh.”

“Pil, I--just. This is too much.”

  
Wonpil shakes his head. “You let me paint there _everyday_ for basically nothing--and you gave me that extra cup of coffee that really helped push me into the work Without you, literally this whole show would’ve collapsed under the pressure I was on to make something good. And if I’m being honest, _this_ was the best part of my day, everyday.”

“I’m glad you enjoy our coffee--"

“--not the coffee,” Wonpil says, turning to face Jae.

“What, then?” Jae’s voice is barely above a whisper now. He feels the small hairs on the backs of his arms stand as he realizes that he’s holding his breath, that he and Wonpil are now so close that it would take less than a nudge, a push for their lips to touch, to brush against each other.

“You--”

With that, Wonpil tugs Jae toward him, reaching up to cup his cheek in his hand before standing on tiptoe and lifting his face up toward Jae. Jae leans down, brings his hand to Wonpil’s nape, letting his fingertips brush against the soft hair there before he moves closer, eyes fluttering shut as their lips meet in a soft kiss.

“Wow,” Wonpil says as they pull away.

Jae grins, glances at the two glasses of wine they’ve put on the table. He watches as Wonpil reaches for one, hands him the other, thinks he’d like nothing more than to have more nights like this.

“Cheers,” Wonpil says, clinking their glasses together.

_The two of cups._

“Cheers.”  


**Author's Note:**

> :] I'm running late re: my posting sched. So sorry!


End file.
